The World I Know
by Erana
Summary: The death of a friend leaves the remaining five to pick up the pieces.


A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a while, and whenever I tried to write in my other Friends story, 'Extenuating Circumstances', I'd get thoughts on this instead. So I finally gave in and wrote it. Now that it's over with, hopefully I'll be able to get more done in the other one. Sorry for any glaring errors, my word program's being strange so I had to write this in wordpad, which doesn't have spell check. I don't think there's many typos, though. Anyway, hope you like it.  
  
* * * * *  
The World I Know  
by Erana Zeitler  
  
"Yeah I walk upon high,  
I must step to the edge  
to see my world below  
and I laugh to myself  
while the tears roll down  
cause it's the world I know,  
what's the world I know?"  
-- Collective Soul, 'World I Know'  
  
Monica Geller-Bing sighed and rolled over onto her side, moving the pillow so that it covered her ear. The feathers, while comfortable, made for a horrible ear plug, as the sound of her alarm clock penetrated just as loudly as it had before. With a small groan, she pushed the pillow back onto Chandler's side of the bed, then suddenly sat up, frowning as she realized she'd been sleeping diagonally across the mattress. She had to be up for work two hours before he did, and as long as they'd lived together, she'd never woken up without him.  
  
Concerned, she rubbed at her sleep heavy eyes and stood up, holding onto the bedside table for support as she reached over to turn off the alarm clock. After a moments wait, she found the strength to make it on her own into the living room, cursing silently at the fact that her half hour of snooze time was now lost. As far as she was concerned that half an hour was more restful than the eight hours that proceeded it.  
  
Monica spotted Chandler on the couch, and paused at the bedroom door, a small smile curving her lips despite her groggy outlook. He, too, was just waking up and hadn't seen her yet, his eyes on the muted television, frowning at the small clock in the corner of the screen. She knew Chandler had always thought of himself as the "funny one" when he'd been living with Joey, and there'd been a time when she would have agreed with him. But that was before she'd really been able to *see* him. Though the concept made little sense even in her own mind, she knew Joey would never be able to look anywhere near as adorable as Chandler did at that moment... at least not to her.  
  
"Did we have a fight that I forgot about, or something?" Monica asked, her smile turning into a full fledged grin as he gave a startled jump before turning his head towards the door, looking confused and, if possible, even more groggy than she felt. "Why were you sleeping on the couch?"  
  
In answer, Chandler grabbed a tissue off the coffee table in time for what had to be a record number of sneezes, followed by a cough. "Care to take a guess, instead?" he offered, then stood up and headed towards the kitchen. "I didn't want to keep you up all night."  
  
Monica followed him, grabbing the container of Maxwell House from his hands and gesturing towards the table sternly. Once he obediently took a seat, she headed towards the coffee pot. "I take it your not feeling well?" she asked, reaching over to turn on the stove.   
  
"Wow. I always knew you were beautiful, but who would've guessed you'd be so brilliant as well?" Chandler replied sarcastically, then grimaced when she turned to glare at him. "Sorry, Mon. The construction guy in my head's making it a little hard to screen those comments before I actually say them."  
  
Monica frowned as she got a closer look at him. His cheeks were flushed a warm pink, and his red-rimmed eyes had a rather feverish glow to them. "Don't worry about it," she answered dismissively, wondering why they didn't have a thermometer in the apartment. "I think there's some Robotussin in the bathroom."  
  
Chandler shuddered. "I know... Did you know we have aliens in the walls? I had the most interesting conversation with them after I took it."  
  
"I'm guessing you took a bit more than what the bottle said," Monica smiled, shaking her head.  
  
"Well, they mean that much for *normal* sickness. I've got the *grandmother* of sickness. The mother of all sicknesses mother... doesn't get much worse than that." Chandler sighed. "That's what I get for finishing that guy's cigaret... uh... cig... Wow, there's *nothing* you can replace cigarette with in conversation, is there?"  
  
"Nope," Monica answered, but stopped herself short of a lecture. Chandler looked far too miserable for her to enjoy it. She opened the fridge, pulling out a carton of orange juice and some eggs, suddenly grateful for losing her half hour of extra sleep. It gave her time to make sure he had something a bit more nutrituous than his usual leftover pizza. "You *are* going to stay home today, right?"  
  
Chandler sighed. "Guess I have no choice, huh?" he asked rhetorically, before coughing violently into his hand.  
  
"You actually *want* to go to work?" she asked doubtfully.  
  
"I hate having to use sick days when I'm actually sick," he said sadly. "It's such a waste!"  
  
"Well, you're right, you don't have a choice," she replied as she began to scramble the eggs. "Besides, if you feel better you can surprise me and clean the place up!" she added brightly.  
  
Chandler looked around at the spotless apartment, then back to her. "Um, sure," he shrugged, at a loss as to what she would want him to do. He rarely saw her actually clean, things just seemed to magically stay that way. Maybe it was the aliens who did it, he mused, and smirked to himself.  
  
Monica kept one eye on the eggs and the other on Chandler as she cooked, growing increasingly concerned as the minutes passed. He seemed vaguely delirious, and she wasn't sure if it was some remnant of his Robotussin overdose, or the fever. If it was the Robotussin, that wasn't a big deal, but if his fever was really *that* high... "Do you want me to stay home from work today?" she offered, transferring the now scrambled eggs onto a plate and pouring himself a glass of orange juice.  
  
Chandler shook his head. "Don't do that," he told her, smiling a thanks as she handed him his food. "I'll be fine. The aliens kept me up all night, so I'll probably just sleep anyway."  
  
Chuckling, Monica poured herself a cup of coffee. "Are you sure?" she prompted.  
  
He frowned as he looked from his orange juice to her coffee. "I don't get coffee?" he pouted.  
  
"Yeah, 'cause that'll make you feel a *lot* better," she said sarcastically, shaking her head as she sat down across from him. Chandler gave her a puppy dog expression, made all the more effective by the coughing fit which followed it. Sighing, she slid her coffee over to him. "You can have a little."  
  
"Aww, gee, thanks Mom," Chandler grinned, taking a sip before looking back up at her. "Seriously, you don't need to stay. Besides, I wouldn't want you to waste one of *your* sick days taking care of me, when we can both be healthy and spend them in much more interesting ways."  
  
Monica raised her eyebrows suggestively before giving in. "Alright, I'll go to work. But I'm going to make Ross check up on you later."  
  
Chandler rolled his eyes. "It's the flu, Monica, I'm not dying. Relax."  
  
"I'm sorry," she said, grabbing her coffee back when she saw Chandler reach for it. "I can't help it. You're never sick."  
  
"Wow... you're right. That's odd. I should go call Elijah Price and let him know."  
  
It took Monica a moment to get the 'Unbreakable' reference, and when she did she gave him an irritated look. "I'm going to go take a shower," she said, pushing her plate aside and standing.  
  
"I'd go with you, but water is my kryptonite," Chandler explained.  
  
"Go to bed," Monica ordered, with a look of amused exasperation.  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Chandler replied, standing at attention and saluting.  
  
Monica laughed and kissed him on the cheek, her concern abating slightly at his jocking mood. "I'll see you when I get home, okay?"  
  
"M'kay," he agreed. "And try not to yell at anyone today, huh? You're losing almost your whole paycheck thanks to that dollar in the jar rule."  
  
"Goodnight, Chandler," she said pointedly, then turned and walked into the bathroom. Chandler waited until the door had closed, then went back to the table, picked up the rest of her coffee, and headed into the bedroom to play on his laptop for a bit before obeying her.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
Monica cursed quietly to herself, watching as the man in front of her fought to squeeze himself into the merging lane, blocking all the cars behind him and coming dangerously close to hitting the one in front of him. Ever since her father had given her the Porsche, she'd been braving city traffic instead of the subway, and she was beginning to wnder if it was worth it.  
  
Glancing at her watch for the seventh time in the past fifteen minutes, she joined the cars around her in honking at the impatient idiot who was holding things up. If it wasn't for him, they'd all be half a centimeter closer to home by now. Her frown deepened as she remembered this morning, and she wished once again that she'd ignored Chandler when he'd told her not to stay home with him. She'd had a horrible day at work, arguing with one of her more troublesome employees and listening to a customer bitch for a half hour about his watered down glass of soda, something she had no control over to begin with. Her time would have been much more pleasurably spent looking after Chandler.  
  
Turning on the radio, she flipped through the stations as she thought about her marriage and had to laugh. When they'd almost gotten married in Vegas two years ago they'd both been so flustered about it, both so afraid of forever. Looking back on it now, she found it hard to understand what she'd been so nervous about. True, she never would have expected Chandler to be the man she'd fall in love with, but it had been the best surprise of her life, one that continued to amaze and thrill her every day they spent together. Today should have been one of those days, she thought again, her eyes narrowing at the car in front of her. After all, they'd vowed to be together in sickness and in health, right? And he was sick. And she was sitting in her car in rush hour traffic instead of being with him, making sure he was okay.  
  
"It's about goddamn time," Monica said to herself as the iidot in front of her finally managed to squeeze his car into the lane. She pulled up close to the line of traffic, and gave a small wave as the car behind her waited for her to pull out of the line of still-standing cars. Nothing beat the feeling of finally being able to drive her car after having to sit still for so long, a phenomena she knew only those forced to sit in city traffic could ever truly understand.  
  
She glanced over to her left and saw another line of cars waiting to get onto the street, frowning as she watched the guy in front move. It seemed to her he was going way the hell too fast to get into her lane, especially since they were just beginning to gain a decent speed. Her eyes widened as the car got closer, still not slowing down in the least. Monica's mouth dropped open as realization hit her, only seconds before the car did the same.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
The sound of the bedroom door opening pulled Chandler from a sleep that seemed to have lasted less than the blink of an eye. The clock, however, told him it had been around six hours. He rolled over, making a face when he saw who was standing there. "No offense, man, but you're so *not* the Geller I was hoping for."  
  
Ross rolled his eyes heavenward in what Chandler had come to think of as a family trait. "Sorry, Monica asked me to stop by when I got home from work and drop off some stuff."  
  
"Like what?" Chandler asked curiously, sitting up in bed and wiping a hand across his forehead, which he then wiped off on the comforter to get rid of the sweat.  
  
Ross mentally went over Monica's shopping list in his head as he answered, "Um, orange juice, tissues, a thermometer, a cough syrup that is *not* Robotussin, chicken to make soup, bottled water, an ice pack..."  
  
"Oh. My. God," Chandler interrupted, shaking his head. "Did you know your sister was obsessed with the Florence Nightingale stuff? You get one little cold..." He trailed off as a coughing fit interrupted him.  
  
"Oh, yeah, she's totally overreacting," Ross smirked, giving his friend a sympathetic look.  
  
"She is!" Chandler protested, sounding annoyed although his lips were curled into an affectionate smile. "I mean, really, she's going to be home in like ten minutes, yet she still made you come over here. She's got issues."  
  
"And tissues," Ross added, then glanced away at Chandler's look. "Okay, that was lame."  
  
Chandler shrugged. "S'okay. Seriously, not like I don't appreciate the concern, or anything, but I'd really much rather be sleeping than talking to you. No offense."  
  
"None taken," Ross replied, turning to go. "Hope you feel better."  
  
Chandler opened his mouth to say thanks, but was interrupted by the phone ringing in the other room. He made a half-hearted attempt to get up, then sighed and sunk back down into the pile of feather pillows. "Would you mind?" he asked Ross.  
  
Ross shook his head. "Sure. See ya later," he added, closing the bedroom door behind him before heading towards the phone. Picking it up, he said, "Hello?" questioningly.  
  
"Hi," said the person on the other end. "This is Dr. Wyle. Are you Monica Bing's husband?"  
  
"Um, no, this is her brother," Ross answered, a knot of fear forming in his gut at the grim tone in the doctor's voice. "Is everything all right?"  
  
"No," Dr. Wyle said bluntly. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. There was a car accident about an hour ago. Your sister was involved."  
  
Ross's mouth dropped open, and he put his free hand over it shakily. "Is - is she all right, though? I mean, is she hurt or something?"  
  
There was a soft sigh on the other end, and then, "We did everything we could, sir. The other person involved wa sdrunk, and he hit her straight on. She was... she was gone before she got to the hospital."  
  
The telephone dropped to the ground beside Ross, and he followed it a moment later, sinking to his knees in shock. He reached to pick the phone back up, his hand shaking as he put the receiver back up to his ear. "Are you sure it was her?" he asked, desperately searching for something to hold onto, some kind of hope.  
  
"We do need a family member to come down and identify the body, but her face matched her driver's license," Dr. Wyle informed him sadly.  
  
"It's a terrible picture of her," Ross said, more to himself than to the doctor on the other end. "What hospital is this?" The doctor gave him the ame and address. "Alright, I'll - um, I'll be right there, alright?"  
  
"Okay," Dr. Wyle answered. "I'll tell the morgue to expect you. What's your name?"  
  
"Ross. Ross Geller," he replied, and stood to hang up the phone before the doctor could say anything else. He couldn't seem to get himself to move, to head to the door so that he'd know for certain if Monica was... Ross couldn't finish the thought, even in his head, and sank back down to the floor, putting his head in his hands as tears stung his eyes. The hope was there, the picture on her driver's license really *was* terrible... but he couldn't make himself believe it.  
  
Swallowing, Ross managed to stand and started to head towards the door, but stopped suddenly as he heard coughing coming from the bedroom. He took a step forward, to tell Chandler, but found he was once again frozen in place. Chandler was too sick to go with him, and telling him now, when Ross wasn't entirely certain, only to leave him here to wait... it seemed unbelievably cruel. Better that Ross should go alone, find out one way or the other first.  
  
Tears stinging his eyes, Ross turned back to the front door and left Monica and Chandler's apartment, leaning against the frame once he was out into the hall. If he kept stopping and going like this, he knew he'd never get there... and maybe that would be for the best. Then he wouldn't know. Then he could pretend... he could believe... "Oh, God," Ross whispered, biting down hard on his lower lip. He couldn't do this alone. He just couldn't. He moved forward, pounding on Joey and Rachel's door, desperately praying that someone would be home.  
  
His prayers were answered as the door opened to reveal Joey, standing in sweat pants and a t-shirt, a can of soda in his hands. Joey took one look at Ross's face and swung the door all the way open. "What's wrong?" his friend asked with concern. "You didn't get divorced again, did you?"  
  
In normal circumstances, Ross would've just glared. But this was about as far away from normal as things could get, and his arm actually swung back before he caught himself and realized what he'd been about to do. Joey's face lost all trace of amusement, and he stared intently at Ross, his eyes asking his first question over again. "Mon - God, Jo, Mon was in a car accident. I - she asked me to stop by when I got home to check on Chandler, and their phone rang, and I answered it, and they said... they said they were pretty sure she was dead, Joey."  
  
"What?" a voice whispered, and Ross turned towards the living room to find Rachel staring at him from the chair. "Are... I... What?"  
  
"Look, I'm not... I'm not *sure*," Ross explained, wiping away a stray tear from his face. "They need someone to... to go down there and confirm that it's her. I - I don't want to say anything to Chandler, not until we know, but... Monica wouldn't let someone from work drive her car, I mean, it's..." He couldn't continue, and moments later he found himself being embraced by Rachel. He hadn't even noticed her stand, but he let himself lean against her, resting his chin on her hair as he tried to keep himself together. When he pulled back, he saw that Joey had already pulled on his coat.  
  
"I'll drive," Joey offered, lips pressed together in a thin line.  
  
Ross nodded, and he and Rachel followed Joey out of the apartment.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
Rachel stared out the window of the car as they drove away from the hospital, her mind flashing back to the look on Ross's face when he'd stepped out of the morgue. No one had said a word since that moment; there wasn't anything to say. Instead they'd gone to the parking lot, back into the car, and were now on their way back home, where Chandler was probably still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the news they were soon to give him. She wondered which one of them would tell Phoebe. She wondered what they were going to say to Chandler.   
  
She wondered when she was going to wake up from this nightmare.  
  
They pulled into the parking garage of their apartment building, and she looked back at Ross. He stared back at her blankly, his eyes not registering her presence. Sighing, she opened the passenger side door and stepped out into the cool night, the wind freezing the few tears she'd shed. Ross stepped out a moment later, and she impulsively wrapped her hand around his, squeezing it gently. He looked down at her, and she knew this time he saw her as his fingers returned the pressure softly.   
  
Rachel took a step towards the building, but stopped when she realized Joey wasn't with them. She turned back to see him standing next to the car, the keys in his hand. "Jo?" she asked quietly.  
  
Joey cleared his throat and held out his hand. "Why don't you guys go to Phoebe's?" he said, his voice strained. "I... I think I should be the one to tell him."  
  
Ross met Joey's eyes across the hood, and after a moment he nodded, understanding the message his friend was trying to convey. "Alright," Ross replied, reaching over to take the keys from Joey. Releasing Rachel's hand, he walked back around the car to the driver's side and got in as Joey moved away.  
  
Rachel signaled for Ross to wait a moment, then tentatively wrapped her arms around Joey. He returned the hug tightly, shuddering against her before pulling away. "Good luck," Joey offered, the small smile on his lips telling her that he knew his words were somewhat inappropriate, but he could think of non better.  
  
Her eyes filled with tears again, and she impatiently wiped them away. "You too," she said, pursing her lips tightly together as she stepped back into the car.  
  
Joey stayed in the parking garage until he saw them pull out onto the street, then slowly turned back towards the building, simultaneously proud and furious with himself. Monica had been Ross's sister, after all, and Rachel's best friend and former roommate. He and Monica, though, they'd just been friends. The best of friends, sure, but if grief was measured in degrees he knew his was somewhat less than theirs. It made more sense for him to tell Chandler, when he could focus more of his attention on him than Rachel and Ross. Not much more, but a little.   
  
As he made his way towards the stairs, he wondered how much of a difference it really made. How much worse did they feel, when he felt as though he'd been shot and was bleeding to death. Was their pain like the bullet being an inch or two closer to the heart, or something? Not for the first time, Joey wished he had more words, so he could adequately describe and understand the shock and horror that coursed through him.   
  
Still, he was glad he'd stopped Ross and Rachel from coming. When something bad happened to one of the group, the other five had always rallied around their fallen member, each doing their best to help lessen their pain. This, though... this affected all of them, so deeply and so differently for each that it seemed, for the first time, that being together would only hurt instead of help. Especially now, with the knowledge still so damned *new*, so horrifically *raw* that it had yet to sink in entirely. Joey knew both Ross and Rachel were fighting to hold it together. The last thing Chandler needed was to be told his wife was dead, and then feel obligated to comfort *them* when their strength deserted them.  
  
Fortunately, Joey's grief was a lesser degree on the scale he imagined one should use to measure these things.   
  
He made it halfway up the stairwell before doubling over, losing the contents of his stomach as well as control over his tears.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
Ten minutes later Joey stood in front of the mirror in what was now just Chandler's apartment, trying to pull himself together enough to deliver the news. He knew as he stared into the mirror that this was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done before, probably the hardest thing he'd ever have to do *ever*. And he still didn't know what he was going to say.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the bathroom and walked slowly towards the bedroom, knocking lightly on the door before opening it. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room, and when they did he saw that Chandler was still sleeping, still blissfully unaware of how much things had changed since he'd drifted off again.  
  
Joey sighed and perched himself on the edge of the bed, trying to gather his courage as he watched his friend sleep. God, he didn't want to do this. He didn't want to be the one to tell Chandler that the woman he loved was never coming home, he didn't want to see Chandler's face when he heard the truth.  
  
But he didn't see any other choice.  
  
Joey reached over, planning to shake his friend to wake him, but pulled back, knowing he couldn't do it. He didn't have the heart to pull Chandler away from his dreams and into his nightmare. Shifting position to make himself more comfortable, Joey decided to wait for him to wake up on his own. Then he'd tell him. It wasn't like there was any rush.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
"I'll be right there!" Phoebe yelled out, taking one last look in the mirror before heading towards the door. Robert wasn't supposed to pick her up until ten, and she wasn't anywhere near ready. He'd just have to wait in the living room, she thought irritably. Robert himself didn't interest her much, but she was willing to put up with him for the sake of a good concert. Besides, maybe she'd meet someone better while she was there. Plastering a fake 'I'm so glad it's you' smile on her face, she pulled open the door. Her smile faltered, however, when she saw Rachel and Ross on the other side, both staring at her grimly. "Hey. What's up?" she asked, moving aside so they could come in.  
  
"Phoebe... hunny, we have something we have to tell you," Rachel said quietly, closing the door behind her and looking over at Ross.  
  
Phoebe looked back and forth between the two of them, her eyes widening. "What's wrong? Is it the baby?"  
  
"No," Ross answered, shaking his head. He flinched at the relieved expression on her face, forcing himself to continue, "It's -- it's something else."  
  
"Okay, you're scaring me now," Phoebe told them quietly. "What's going on?"  
  
Ross and Rachel looked at one another for a long moment, then Rachel turned back to face Phoebe. "Pheebs... Monica was in a car accident tonight. She..." Rachel trailed off and looked down, clearing her throat before continuing, "...she's dead."  
  
Phoebe's felt her eyes widen and her lower lip draw up into her mouth as though she were observing it from somewhere far away inside her mind, a place she hadn't been to since her mother's suicide. "What?" she asked, her voice sounding lost and confused even to her own ears. Ross reached out to touch her arm and she jumped away from him. "Don't," she said warningly. "This is the meanest joke... How could you...? Oh, God." She pressed the palm of her hand to her mouth, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to find some composure, some way to calm down and deal with this in a way that didn't involve a total break down. "Are you - are you sure?" she asked, knowing it was probably the stupidest question ever, but unable to stop herself from asking it.  
  
Ross sighed, closing his eyes as he answered, "I identified her about an hour ago." He moved towards the couch and sat down.  
  
Phoebe bit down on the bottom of her lip, trying to force the tidal wave of emotions back. She, too, went to the couch, perching awkwardly on the armrest. "Do the others know?" she asked Rachel, her voice still holding a childlike quality she couldn't seem to rid herself of.  
  
"Joey's telling Chandler," Rachel said quietly, beginning to shake ever so slightly, now that she and Ross were finally settled in one place, away from the hospital.  
  
Ross groaned. "I still have to tell my parents," he said quietly, resting his head on his hands and blinking furiously before locking eyes with Rachel once again.  
  
Phoebe watched as Rachel stiffened in an attempt to stop the tremors running through her body. It only made them worse. "You want me to go with you?" Rachel offered.  
  
"I'd appreciate it," Ross answered gratefully, then looked back at Phoebe. "Do you want to come?"  
  
Phoebe tried not to flinch at the transparent offer, knowing it was made only out of a reluctant sense of guilt for wanting to leave her alone after telling her one of her closest friends had died. "That's okay, I'd rather not," she answered, the childlike quality of her voice being replaced by a bitterness that was even less mature.  
  
Fortunately, Ross was too wrapped up in himself to notice. "Okay," he agreed, standing up. Moments later he and Rachel were both gone, giving Phoebe the freedom she'd needed to fall apart.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
Chandler groaned as he started to wake up from a rather strange dream that he couldn't quite remember, except that it had been odd. Stretching sore muscles, he was relieved to find that he no longer felt like he was freezing to death in Antartica. Either he was getting better, or the seventeenth blanket he'd added after Ross left had done the trick.  
  
Turning over, he opened his eyes, then blinked and tried to open them again, convinced that he was still asleep and was only dreaming about waking up. Still, Joey remained, stretched out on Monica's side of the bed, watching him. "Joey?" he asked cautiously, hoping this was, as he suspected, a dream. Otherwise he and Joey were going to have to have a *long* talk about what it meant to be married and not gay.  
  
"Hey," Joey said, looking far too serious for Chandler's tastes. "Feelin' any better?"  
  
"Well, I *was*," Chandler answered, glad he hadn't slept naked. "You going to tell me what you're doing in my bedroom? Because I was under the impression you didn't even *remember* our night together." Joey's lips didn't even twitch at the joke, and Chandler's eyes narrowed. "Jo... you gonna answer me, or what?"  
  
"Yeah, just... not in here," Joey said suddenly, jumping up from the bed. "It - it wouldn't be good for you to hear it in here." He turned towards the door, then, frowning, turned back. "Maybe we should go to my place."  
  
Chandler got to his feet, moving towards the wall so that he was on the complete opposite side of the room than Joey. "Okay, we are not going to your place *ever*, Jo. What the hell's the matter with you?!" Suddenly looking suspicious, he asked, "You didn't take too much Robotussin, did you?"  
  
"What? No!" Joey protested, sighing heavily. "I've got something to tell you, alright? A serious, *non-sexual* thing. But I *really* can't tell you in here," he insisted, gesturing around the bedroom. "So will you just come with me? Please?"  
  
Still somewhat suspicious, and now also a bit concerned for Joey's mental health, Chandler cautiously nodded and followed his friend out of the bedroom and into the living room, where Joey sank down onto the couch, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes for a moment before looking back up. "Sit down, man."  
  
"What's with the big production, Jo?" Chandler asked, obediently sitting down across from Joey on the couch.  
  
Joey stared into his friend's eyes, seeing the mixture of concern and confusion there, and had to look away. This wasn't the first time he'd had to tell Chandler news he knew would upset him, but it was definitely the worst. He felt his eyes beginning to sting again, and his eyes turned down towards the floor, not wanting to see the expression on Chandler's face once he heard. "Oh, man," he whispered, and forced himself to look back up, to meet that curious gaze head on. "Monica's..." Joey shook his head, and forced the words out past the lump in his throat, "Monica's dead."  
  
Chandler blinked back at him. "No she's not," he said simply, sounding puzzled. "I saw her this morning, Jo. She's fine."   
  
"I - I know you did," Joey answered, biting down hard on his lower lip. He hadn't thought he'd have to say anything more than that, which he realized now had been stupid. "You gotta listen to me, okay? When... when Ross came over here, you got a phone call, right? That he answered. It was -- it was the hospital. She -- there was a car accident, I don't know exactly what happened, but -- they were looking for you... to... to go down there and... Anyway, Ross knew you couldn't, 'cause you're sick, and all, so he went instead. And he -- he didn't want to say anything to you until he knew for sure. So we went... we went down there and..." Joey trailed off, wiping impatiently at his eyes. Strange; on what had to be the worst night of his life, Joey had twice now been too optimistic, thinking he could get away with a simple statement of fact, and thinking he'd manage to not break down while telling Chandler. "It was her, man. Ross... he saw her. It was her."  
  
The look Joey had been dreading finally appeared, as he watched the truth sink in and the news settle on Chandler's face. "She's *dead*?" Chandler repeated, his voice wavering on the last word.  
  
The tears Joey had been trying so hard to control slipped freely down his face, breaking free at the sound of Chandler's voice. "Yeah," he answered, his own voice a strangled whisper. He moved forward on the couch, reaching out to his best friend, but Chandler moved back, all but jumping off of the couch.  
  
"Thanks for telling me," he said, with a tightly polite smile, as if he were talking to a stranger.. Before Joey had a chance to say anything else, Chandler turned back around and went into the bedroom, the door slamming behind him.   
  
Joey listened intently, but heard no sound coming from the other room, not tears or the sound of objects breaking, both of which he'd expected to see after finally getting the words out of his mouth. He wanted to go in there, to help, but wasn't sure if he should. So instead he once again made himself comfortable on the couch, unwilling to leave until Chandler came out again.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
Rachel sat in the second row, her hands clasped tightly around each other as she listened to the priest talk about Monica Geller, a woman he hadn't known, but was sure had been a delight. Rachel found it to be vaguely sickening, the way he went on and on about the virtues of God and the beauty of death. She wondered if he'd say the same if he *had* known Monica. Somehow she doubted it.  
  
Ross put his hand on her shoulder, somehow sensing her discomfort, and she flashed him a pained but genuine smile, grateful he was there. Being at Monica's funeral was horrifying enough, being there with only Phoebe and Ross made it seem so much worse. Chandler claimed he was still too sick to make it, though Rachel couldn't help but wonder. She'd only seen him for a few minutes yesterday, but he'd seemed so distant and so strangely *lost* that just the sight of him had almost made her start crying again. Joey hadn't left the apartment once that she knew of, despite the fact that, as he'd told her privately, Chandler was mostly ignoring him. Still, she could understand why Joey wouldn't want to leave him alone. And it wasn't like he was missing anything particularly comforting.  
  
The priest finally finished talking, and Ross looked over at his parents for a moment before standing. She gave him a sympathetic look as he walked up to the podium, still unable to believe that his parents were making him talk so they wouldn't have to. Was it really any wonder Monica had always thought they loved him more? When they couldn't even manage to give her a proper eulogy, and instead asked Ross? Ross said it was only because they found it too painful, but she was still furious about it. As if it wasn't just as painful for Ross; he was the one who saw her every day for the past ten years.  
  
Rachel watched, keeping her fingers crossed that he wouldn't fall apart, as he stepped up to the wooden stand and looked over the room. She found herself doing the same, surprised at how many friends Monica had managed to acquire besides their group. Considering how much time they'd all spent together, it was astonishing that any of them found time for anyone else, now that she thought about it.  
  
"Um, hello everyone," Ross began, and Rachel breathed a sigh of relief that he sounded composed, at least for now. "First, I'd like to thank you all for coming. And uh...umm... you know, I tried to think of something to say last night. I spent a good hour trying to write something appropriate, but the truth is there's not much to say. Everyone here knew Monica, and I think we all know she was an amazing woman. I knew her both as my sister and one of my closest friends, and she has... she's always been there for me in ways no one else ever can be." Ross took a deep breath and shook his head, shrugging ever so slightly. "She'll be missed," he said softly, then turned and walked back to his seat.  
  
Rachel closed her eyes as he sat back down, grateful that his speech had been brief, and, while not painless, not exactly hysteria inducing, either. She didn't think she had any tears left to shed.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
Ross walked up the stairs behind Rachel, relieved that at last the funeral was over. His temper was still simmering beneath the surface after hours of people he barely knew coming up to him to express their "heartfelt" sympathies. Most of them, he knew, would go home tonight, put away their black clothes, and never again give Monica a single thought. The hypocrisy of it astounded him.  
  
Rachel headed inside her apartment, and Ross followed her inside her and Joey's apartment, shutting the door behind him. He watched as she turned back to him, giving him another small, sad smile. It was a smile he knew he'd have to get used to. "Your speech was nice," she said quietly, opening the fridge. "Simple. Monica would've liked it. Juice?"  
  
Ross shook his head, and she got herself a glass. "Rachel?" he said softly, and she turned back to him, giving him her full attention. "You don't have to do this."  
  
She cocked her head to the side, confused. "Have juice?"  
  
"No," Ross said, finding himself giving her the same small, sad smile. "You don't have to pretend like you're not in pain for me," he continued seriously. Her eyes widened, and he went on before she could cut him off, "I know you're trying to help, and I appreciate it, but... You and Monica were as close as any sisters could be. I - I don't need you to be strong for me, Rachel." She looked down at the floor, and he stepped forward, lifting her face up to his so he could see the tears in her eyes. "We've both lost someone we loved, not just me. I know that."  
  
Rachel's face crumpled and he wrapped his arms around her, letting her lean against his shoulder. "I miss her so much," she whispered against his shoulder.  
  
Ross closed his eyes, resting his chin on her head. "I know," he answered, voice tight as he gently stroked her hair. Holding her by the shoulders, he pushed her back so he could look into her now red-rimmed eyes. "Don't try and hide it," he added, wiping away her tears with the back of his hand. "We'll get through it together."  
  
She nodded, giving a shaky laugh. "Okay," she agreed softly. "Thanks."  
  
Ross shook his head. "Hey, what're friends for?" he replied simply, and hugged her again. "You gonna be okay?"  
  
"Yeah," she said reassuringly. "I'm just gonna watch some tv and then go to sleep. I'm really tired." Rachel turned back to the counter to pour her juice, her hands still shaking ever so slightly. "I'll be fine."  
  
"Alright, well, if you need me, call," Ross ordered her firmly, his hand still on her shoulder. "I'm gonna go across the hall, see if Joey's coming back. I don't like you being here alone."  
  
Rachel rolled her eyes. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Ross."  
  
"Still, if something happens with the baby -- "  
  
"I'll pick up the phone," Rachel said firmly. "Honestly, I feel a lot better knowing that Joey's with Chandler."  
  
Ross looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You weren't there yesterday," Rachel answered. "You didn't see him. He's not doing well, Ross." She shook her head. "The whole time I was there, I don't think he even really saw me."  
  
Ross pursed his lips together, considering. "Well, I could stay here for a few days, then."  
  
"Ross! I'll be fine," Rachel quietly assured him, trying to keep a lid on her own temper. She knew he was only acting like this because of Monica, but still... she didn't need a man nearby to take care of her just because she was pregnant.   
  
"It's just a suggestion," Ross said simply, then shrugged. "I'll see you later, okay?"  
  
Rachel nodded and watched him go.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
Joey sighed heavily as he reached for the remote, trying to find something to watch that didn't remind him of Monica. Doctors on ER were fighting to save victims of a car accident, a chief was giving an interview on the news, and Buffy Summers was trying to rescue a young woman from being killed on FX. Giving up, he turned to VH1 and listened half-heartedly to the top twenty songs, his mind reviewing the past couple of days.  
  
Chandler had come out of the bedroom about twelve hours after Joey'd told him about Monica, and as far as Joey could tell, he had yet to exhibit a single typical symptom of grief. Instead his friend had told him he didn't have to stay, then went to the bathroom, then went straight back into the bedroom for the rest of the day. Rachel came over the day after to let them know about the funeral, and Chandler had told her he wasn't feeling up to it. Aside from those two sentences, he hadn't said a word. Or eaten anything, for that matter, unless he'd come out while Joey was sleeping on the couch.  
  
Uncertain of exactly what he should be doing for Chandler, if anything, Joey'd opted to stay, just in case something happened, or Chandler needed him, or something. So far, however, he'd done little but watch television and long for a shower.  
  
A knock at the door startled Joey from his thoughts, and he got up to answer it. "Hey," he greeted Ross, stepping back so that he could enter. "What's up?"  
  
Ross glanced around the apartment, a haunted look creeping into his eyes, then cleared his throat. "I need a favor," he answered after a moment's pause.   
  
"Sure. Name it," Joey offered easily.  
  
"It's Rachel," Ross confided. "I don't... I don't like the idea of her being alone while she's pregnant. There's no way she's going to let me stay with her, though, so I was thinking maybe I could stay over here for a little while, at least until Chandler's doing better."  
  
Joey looked back at the bedroom door uncertainly, thinking it over. It was a perfectly reasonable request, but he couldn't help feeling strangely protective of Chandler right now, and he didn't really like the idea of not being here with him. Still, it wasn't as if he was managing to help, or anything. "I guess so," he agreed finally, unable to keep the reluctance from his voice.  
  
Ross picked up on it, and frowned at him. "Is he really doing that badly?" he asked, concerned.  
  
Joey exhaled in frustration. "I have no idea," he confessed, running a hand through his hair in an unusual gesture of distress. "He's barely said a word to me. I just... I figured he'd have had some kind of reaction by now, but there's nothing." Sighing, he decided to change the topic. "How was the funeral?"  
  
"It was okay," Ross said, not sure how to answer Joey's question. "It was a funeral, you know?"  
  
Joey nodded. "Yeah," he replied, not really having a clue what Ross meant. "I, uh - I'll see ya tomorrow, then, I guess."  
  
"Okay," Ross agreed.  
  
Joey moved towards the door, stepping around Ross, but stopped before he reached the hallway. "Ross?" he asked tentatively, and waited for his friend to turn around before continuing. "I - uh - I don't know what good this is gonna do, but I'm... I'm really sorry," he finished, giving a small helpless shrug.  
  
Ross met Joey's eyes and nodded back. "Me too," he replied, shrugging back to convey his own sympathies. They continued to stare at one another for a moment longer, then Joey went into the hallway, closing the door behind him.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
Ross had been watching television for the last two hours, feeling himself growing increasingly bored as the minutes passed. There was nothing on of interest, and it was still far too early to go to sleep. Sighing, he shifted position on the couch, stretching his tired muscles and hoping Rachel wasn't too mad at him for sending Joey back to his own apartment. He knew he was being overprotective, but he couldn't help himself. He didn't want to take any unnecessary chances.  
  
The bedroom door opened and Ross sat up as Chandler walked out into the living room, blinnking when he saw who was on his couch. "What, are you people taking turns now?" Chandler asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.  
  
"I, uh - I just wanted to see how you were doing," Ross stammered, trying to hide his shock. Rachel and Joey had both warned him, but there words had done nothing to prepare him for seeing his ex brother in law. He'd never seen Chandler look so damned lost.  
  
"Great," Chandler answered sarcastically, and continued into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. When he emerged a few moments later, he paused by the couch to glare at Ross. "You can go now."  
  
Ross was unprepared for the enmity in Chandler's voice, and had to fight hard to keep a reign on his temper. "I told Joey I'd stay," he replied carefully.  
  
"Well, it's not Joey's apartment, it's mine. I don't want you here, Ross. Go home."  
  
"Look, Chandler..."  
  
Chandler shook his head. "I don't want to hear it. Just leave, alright? There's no reason for you to be here, not anymore. So go."  
  
Ross stood up angrily, his hands clenching by his sides as he tried to keep his voice at a normal level. "Would you stop acting like you're the only one in pain here! She was *my* sister!" He took a deep breath and continued, his voice softer, "I know what you're going through."  
  
Chandler surprised him by laughing in what sounded like genuine amusement. "You know what I'm going through, huh?" he repeated, shaking his head. "So you know what it's like to dream about her every night? You know what it's like to think every time you turn around she'll be there, only she's not? You know what it feels like to wake up every morning alone in a bed you've spent two years sharing with her?" All traces of laughter gone from his face, Chandler asked, "Do you know how it feels to have to live with the knowledge that she's gone because of you?"  
  
Totally confused as to Chandler's meaning, Ross shook his head as he asked, "What are you talking about?"  
  
"She wanted to stay, Ross!" Chandler shouted back at him. "She wanted to stay home, and I told her not to. I told her ... I told her I'd be fine, and she walked out that door, and she's never gonna come back." Chandler closed his eyes and turned away. "She asked me if she should stay, and I told her no," he reiterated. "If I'd just... God, if I'd just said *yes*..." He turned back, tears in his eyes that he impatiently wiped away before looking back into Ross's eyes. "I'm sorry."  
  
For a moment Ross assumed Chandler was apologizing for his attitude, and an assurance was on the tip of his tongue before he realized exactly what his friend meant. It was the most ridiculous thing Ross'd ever heard in his life, and he felt physically ill at the implication. How could Chandler possibly believe what he was saying? But Ross knew he did, so much so that he was actually standing there, in front of him, saying he was sorry. "Chandler..." Ross started, then stopped, feeling completely inadequate. "This wasn't... there wasn't any way you could have known what would happen. You *know* that."  
  
"I should have," Chandler insisted simply, blinking hard as he fought back tears.   
  
"How?" Ross demanded.  
  
"I just... I should have," Chandler shrugged, unable to offer anything else. "I should have known." He looked down at the floor beneath their feet, and shakily said, "I'm sorry," once again.  
  
Ross put his hand on Chandler's shoulder, and waited until the other man looked back up at him before telling him firmly, "There's nothing to be sorry for, man. Nothing." At the devasted expression on Chandler's face, Ross pulled him into a tight embrace, refusing to let go when Chandler struggled to get away from him. "Nothing," Ross repeated firmly. Chandler relaxed against him, beginning to sob in earnest as Ross held him and tried to find words adequate enough to absolve his friend of a guilt that was never his to carry in the first place.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
Phoebe sat back in her seat at the coffee house, sipping from one of the oversized cups as she tried to resist the pull of sadness. It was the first time she'd been there since Monica's death, the first time *any* of them had been there, as far as she knew. Joey squeezed her leg supportively, and she glanced over at him, smiling slightly. Berevament leave was over for all of them, and they'd decided to stop at Central Perk when they got off. Everyone except Chandler was there, and even as Phoebe thought about him the door entered and he came in. She said a quick hello and slid over on the couch to make room.  
  
Chandler shook his head. "I'm not staying," he told her, and looked over at Ross. "I just wanted to apologize. When you were over the other day... I know I was kind of a jerk. It's just... I just miss her, you know?"  
  
Ross frowned, surprised. "I understand," he said quickly. "I'm just glad I helped."  
  
"Yeah," Chandler shrugged, giving Ross a sheepish smile. "Well, I'll feel a hell of a lot better when she gets back."  
  
There was a long moment of silence as the others exchanged looks. Joey took the initiative with a cautious, "What?"  
  
Chandler answered easily, "When she gets back. From her chief thing," he explained, looking puzzled at the question. "It's been a week, Jo. Where've you been?"  
  
"Obviously not where you've been," Joey replied. He was moments away from trying to find a shrink who took emergency calls when he noticed Ross was glaring at him. Joey stared at his friend for a long moment, and, realizing what Ross wanted, cautiously asked, "Uh, when is she getting back?"  
  
"A couple weeks, I think," Chandler said, then glanced at his watch. "I gotta go. See ya later." Waving goodbye to the group, he left the coffee house.  
  
"What the hell was that?" Rachel asked as soon as he was gone, eyes wide with a combination of shock and concern.  
  
Joey was still glaring back at Ross. "Are you insane?" he demanded. "We can't just... we gotta do something about this, man. I mean, I knew he was taking it bad, but this... this isn't good! We need to get him some help, or something."  
  
"Why?" Ross asked, shaking his head as he remembered Chandler apologizing for Monica's death. "I say we leave it alone."  
  
"You've both snapped," Joey said irritably, throwing up his hands as he looked to the others for help. Neither Rachel nor Phoebe seemed to share his shock, instead they both looked thoughtful. "Not you, too!" he demanded of them both.  
  
Phoebe glanced over at Rachel, then back to Joey. "Where's the harm?"  
  
"How about in two weeks, or whenever, when no one's back from their 'chief thing', because they're kinda... oh, I don't know... *dead*!"  
  
Rachel sighed. "Look, Joey... if he could deal with it, he wouldn't have forgotten the past week. We should just see what happens, and take it from there."  
  
Joey slumped back down in his chair, knowing when he was outnumbered. "I still think this is a bad idea," he complained worriedly.  
  
Ross sighed, a little wistfully. "How? Come on... if you could believe she was alive, wouldn't you want to? I sure wish I could."  
  
"This is crazy," Joey complained.  
  
"Jo, look, I know you're worried," Ross said quietly. "We all are. But he'll be all right. We'll make sure of it, one way or another." With that assurance, Ross stood and said his goodbyes. The others soon followed suit, leaving Joey alone, hoping that they were right.  
  
Somehow, he doubted it.  
  
* * * * *  
THE END  
  
E/N: First: while re-reading this story, I kept thinking it could've been better, but unfortunately I wasn't able to figure out exactly how to make it better. So if you spotted anything that you thought needed work, let me know, please? And if you didn't, I'd love to know that, too. Secondly: I'm probably just going to end it here. If I was going to do a sequel, it'd probably end up being a Joey/Chandler story, and seeing as slash doesn't seem to be do popular in the Friends fandom, I figure I'll just leave it as is. -- Please let me know what you thought, huh? I'd be quite grateful. :) 


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